Every Last Light
by Geiera
Summary: Loss is a strange thing. It ties them together yet drives them apart. Spoilers, Gen.


**Title:** Every Last Light

**Series:** Tiger & Bunny

**Summary: **Loss is a strange thing. It ties them together yet drives them apart. Spoilers, Gen.

**Warning: **Do not read if you have not seen episode 24. This story was written pre-episode 25 and assumes that a certain someone is still dead.

**A/N: **Was meant to be for the kinkmeme, but then I got off track. Uhh. Enjoy?

* * *

><p>Pao-Lin<p>

"I… I didn't even see it coming."

Antonio stops, but doesn't look up. He's almost done wrapping the palm of her hand, the bandages just tight enough to itch.

"Don't beat yourself up," he says, somehow sounding both sympathetic and annoyed. "Could've happened to anyone."

Frowning, Pao-Lin bites her tongue. She's frustrated. Heroes aren't supposed to lose focus like that, especially not around criminals. If the cut had been just a little deeper…

"Stop that."

She flinches and forces down the urge to rip her hand away, to tell Antonio that she's _just fine_ and _doesn't need to hear it right now_, and storm off like some spoiled, needy brat. Instead, she takes a deep breath and tries to take his advice. It doesn't even hurt that much. It's not a big deal.

He neatly ties the ends and steps away, leaving her to inspect his handiwork. She can't help but think that he's definitely had practice.

"Thank you," Pao-Lin says quietly. "Y-You really didn't have to…"

He shrugs. "Stuff like that is hard to do with just one hand."

When she tries to spread out her fingers, the pain comes back as a sharp, sudden jolt.

"Stupid."

Antonio blinks, looking from her bandaged hand to her eyes and back again. "What?"

"I…" What is she even _saying_? Stupid. _Stupid_. "I didn't even try to dodge. What was I thinking…?"

"Hey, it's-"

She jerks away from him, biting down on an insult that he really doesn't deserve. Her heart is pounding, drowning out years and years of discipline and focus and…

She freezes when Antonio places a hand on her shoulder.

"Hey. Look at me."

Reluctantly, she does. He's perfectly calm, his expression giving nothing away. The thought of him judging her like this would have been overwhelming, but…

"Can you tell me what's wrong?"

Gritting her teeth, she glares at her hand. "I messed up. It's… It's embarrassing."

He tightens his grip and, at first, she doesn't understand why. But then his expression changes, making him suddenly look older, more worn and tired than he should be.

"It's not about your hand, Pao-Lin," he says carefully and then it hits her, her eyes flying open and meeting his.

Three months.

It's only been three months.

She's been trying not to cry, to push down the raw and open hurt. But it's hard. It's too hard and she just can't…

"We have to be heroes," she says, her voice steady despite the tears. "He always tried his best and… I messed up. I messed up and now I-"

Antonio wraps his arms around her and lets her cry. His hands are shaking.

* * *

><p>Antonio<p>

"Poor girl." Nathan sighs, taking a sip from his clear, sparkling drink. Everything in this place has a long convoluted name in French or Latin or something, and the flamboyant hero manages to pronounce them all perfectly. It's probably the only reason Antonio lets Nathan order for him. Probably.

He absently drums his fingers on the table, immediately regretting telling Nathan about Pao-Lin. It's not his place.

Nathan raises his eyebrows as Antonio downs his drink, his fifth one so far. It's not even dark outside, but he doesn't care.

"Maybe Dragon Kid isn't the only one who's feeling a little down," Nathan says lightly, picking at his long fingernails.

Frowning, Antonio pushes his empty glass away.

* * *

><p>Ivan<p>

He's reread the letter about four or five times now, but it just doesn't sink in.

He's never lost a sponsor before.

The name has been taken off his suit and his manager says that they'll find a replacement right away, but…

Aimlessly, Ivan wanders the streets. It's early, around seven, and people rush by with their heads down, talking on cellphones or staring ahead with that dazed, bored look that comes with routines. It seems that, compared to the crowd at least, he's walking too slow.

On a day like this, he should be inside. But not now. Now, he feels compelled to be here, like he's trying to desperately find something in the crowd. It's all so ordinary, so normal, and he can't help but feel lost.

Eventually, he finds a bench and continues to stare out at the people who walk by. It's kinda creepy to stare so openly, but he can't help it. His powers keep _wanting_ to activate, like that would somehow make him blend in.

He's not used to this. The rush of being a hero, an _actual_ hero, made him forget.

But his old insecurities suddenly weren't important. A store window explodes, sending a spray of broken and sharp glass onto the sidewalk. Smoke trickles out next, closely followed by two masked men. The girl in their arms is struggling, trying to twist away from the gun pressing against her throat.

Ivan picks an identity, an old one that isn't used anymore, and approaches carefully.

Both of the men hit the ground hard, the gun easily falling into Ivan's hands. He doesn't need it, and makes sure that the hostage escapes before taking the next step. The zap straps in his pocket aren't much, but they will keep the criminals still until the proper authorities arrive.

It's only after he moves away, sliding through three or four identities until he's lost in the crowd, before he notices that his communicator is flashing.

There was a meeting today, one which he completely forgot about.

"I shouldn't be surprised," Ivan mutters, looking away from his wrist. "Sponsors don't like being ignored."

But it's okay. How could he regret missing the meeting? Without him, that girl might've…

Around him, life in Sternbild continues as it always has. The traces of Wild Tiger are vanishing, fans finding new heroes to worship and the video of his memorial being played less and less.

But it's okay.

Those who need to remember him still do.

With a new sense of conviction, Ivan calls his manager. He doesn't really need a new sponsor after all.

* * *

><p>Karina<p>

"This isn't what I had in mind…"

Karina's nails dig into the arms of her chair. "W-What do you mean by that? You don't like it?"

After pushing and pushing for just a _bit_ of artistic freedom, she's finally able to compose her latest single. But nothing goes without her management team's approval, and the look on Mr. Takahashi's face isn't exactly welcoming.

The line between his eyebrows deepens just a bit and Karina can feel her stomach start to sink. He doesn't like it.

He pauses to take off his glasses, her carefully written lyrics held loosely in one hand. "No, Karina. These lyrics are beautiful, but this isn't what the public wants right now."

"What?" She nearly knocks the chair over, her legs unsteady and shaking. "H-How can you _say that_?"

He tells her about what the public wants, how they're already letting go and moving on. He tells her that this isn't the time for a ballad.

Karina leaves his office, her lyrics balled up in one hand, and tries not to explode.

Slamming the door to her dressing room, she rips open her duffel bag and shoves the lyrics as far down as they will go. Just the sight of them burns of humiliation and rejection and a thousand other painful things all colliding at once.

Taking a deep breath, she steps back.

Her gym clothes are unorganized, slipping out of the bag and onto the floor. She should fold them and clean up the mess, but…

She can see the thick white fabric of the towel Kotetsu gave her, as cheap and ridiculous as ever. Somehow, it makes her smile.

"I wonder if he'd like my song," Karina whispers, her eyes tracing the design over and over again. "But… I guess I'll never know."

* * *

><p>Nathan<p>

There's nothing more tiring than a five hour meeting with his senior staff, each and every one of them with a different menial complaint. Sometimes Nathan wondered if they were secretly having a contest of who could come up with the most ridiculous thing to criticize.

It didn't help that he was a little distracted. And slightly hungover.

Inspired, he pulls out his phone and texts Antonio, _"maybe u should change ur name to Rock Fish. u sure drink like one ;) xoxo"_

There's no way that he's going out tonight, partially because of his 9am appointment tomorrow and _mostly_ because he's not quite sure what to do with Antonio.

The idiot probably didn't realize how insulted Nathan was. Or, rather, _is_.

It's been three months since the memorial, since the entire city of Sternbild stood still and remembered Wild Tiger. Nathan has seen every single one of the heroes cry since then, and each time it hurts just a little more.

Last night, Antonio, his words all slurring together, pointed and him and said that Nathan didn't care. Just because he didn't collapse and start bawling on the sidewalk, it somehow meant that he didn't care.

Nathan sighs, watching the elevator doors slide open. He wants to be sad, to just shut himself away for weeks on end and cry and be _alone_, but he can't.

He has to wait until the others find their peace.

* * *

><p>Keith<p>

Overheard, fireworks of blue and gold and bright, brilliant purple explode all over the clear night sky.

Sky High is the King of Heroes again.

But now, looking out at the crowd and hearing the low, steady chant of his name, he changes his mind. Somehow, this is all wrong.


End file.
